There had once been a time when Danny wanted, more than anything, to be a soldier. Not a blacksmith, not even a Ranger like his daddy. A soldier, one who wore a uniform with lots of medals pinned on it, and who carried a gun over his shoulder everywhere he went. He'd once tried that at home. After one march around the house his mama had caught him by the shoulders and taken the rifle away from him. She'd smiled when she told him he was too young, but he saw a strange look in her eyes that never did make sense to him. He didn't see it often; only recently had it returned when they were in the supply car with Mr. Cole and Mr. Cavendish, and he'd been holding another gun, smaller this time. Mr. Cavendish had taken it away.
Now, Danny studied the two soldiers standing on either side of the door. Their uniforms were the same color he'd imagined his own to be, and they held the guns in the same position he'd held the rifle at home, but unlike Danny when he was lost in his imagination, these soldiers didn't look happy. They didn't smile, they didn't speak, and their gazes didn't move from the far wall. He wondered what they found so interesting over there to stare in that one direction all the time. A moment ago, he'd taken a look for himself, but all he saw was a couple of paintings and another door that led to the next railcar.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pleased with the slight whistling noise that resulted from the air whooshing past his lips. The soldiers suddenly began speaking in low voices, and he quickly closed his mouth, but they weren't looking at him. Instead they were staring out the windows of the railcar. One was pointing, his tone excited as he spoke to his partner who looked considerably less enthusiastic. Danny turned his gaze to his mother. She, too, was watching something in the distance, smiling. She looked over her shoulder to her son, reaching out a hand as she opened her mouth to speak.
Danny flinched when someone pounded their fist against the door. A soldier peered through the glass, then opened the door, his expression annoyed. Danny's heart began to race when a familiar tall, gaunt figure entered the railcar, his arms swinging in time with his long strides. Seemingly unfazed, Danny's mama simply smiled at the outlaw coming towards her, and spoke confidently. "He's coming for you. Just like Frank said."
Uneasy, Danny glanced to his right, where a tray of fruit sat on the table. His slingshot had been taken by the soldiers - he could see it on the shelf beside the mean-looking one - but he figured if he aimed just right, squinting a bit like he'd seen Daddy do when he was shooting...
"Maybe I'll have a taste and find out."
Danny's brows flew up in surprise as he turned to look at Mr. Cavendish. Did he want the fruit? The young boy narrowed his eyes as he watched the outlaw lean closer to his mother, a grin starting to form on his face. When Mr. Cavendish lifted a hand and let it fall on his mama's shoulder, moving down, Danny picked up a grape and threw it with all his might. With a small thud, it hit the outlaw's cheek and bounced off to the carpeted floor, rolling away. He heard his mother gasp but he didn't dare look away from Mr. Cavendish, whose eyes had grown wide. Then his gaze met Danny's, and time seemed to stand still.
A smirk tugged at the gnarled lip. It wasn't quite a smile, barely there, yet just long enough for Danny to see a flash of the silver tooth and how the man's lips had quirked up at the corners. He caught a glimpse of something in the man's eyes before he grabbed his mama's arm and began hauling her out of the railcar. Danny cried out, but a moment later they were gone. The soldiers slammed the door behind them, locking it before they began to make themselves comfortable on the furniture. One of them looked up at Danny as he started to clean his gun.
"You got guts, kid." Then he put his head down and said no more. Danny slumped against the window, watching as Mr. Cavendish held his mother's hand against his arm like Daddy used to, leading her through the crowd of people.
Oh, how he wanted to go home.